Smoke If You Got 'Em

September 18, 2018:

Owen's just looking for a place to chill. Enchantress…is being very much…herself.

South Channel Island - Gotham

Across the Trigate Bridge situated between Sprang River the Gotham River and where the two feed in to one another is an island, this lonely island perhaps one of the most famous places in all of Gotham and is at times called Arkham Island itself thanks to the infamous Asylum within its borders.

To the north across the Sprang Aparo Park and the HIll is visible within Otisburg to the south the harbors of Coventry and those Gothic church spires. Across the river the stretch of Sommerset.

Upon the isle itself is a wasteland of dead shrubs and broken up earthquake shattered landscape that looks both jagged and desolate until it bleeds in to the sprawling unused cemetery as old as the city itself known only as Charon. Several roads split through these landmarks that lead to the only destinations on Gotham with any form of activity, the massive Di'Angelo Sewage Treatment Plant and the walled fortress; Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Amanda Waller


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Depending on the time and the circumstances, it was actually fairly rare, for anyone to choose to visit the old cemetery on the island. Halloween, though, and the month leading up to it were particularly troublesome. Weekends Satanists, don't you know? But tonight, it would seem that nothing living dared to invade the broken stones and tumbled down markers. And yet, there was movement, low and slow to the ground, dark shadows slinking like black fog along the ground, all seeming to seep from the ground and converge on a single old, long fallen to disrepair above ground tomb, which bore an uncanny resemblance to an altar. And seated upon it, was Enchantress, legs folded in the indian fashion, hands laid palm up on her knees. She was in her wild, animal form, scraps of fabric and fireflies of embers swirling about her in her own wind. And still, the dark came.


The point of a hidey hole is to make it accessible enough to you, but remote enough so that no one will stumble on it unwittingly. The Smith family mausoleum in the cemetery fits the bill just fine for Owen Mercer. He used to think this place was hidden even from the eyes of the all seeing. No, not God. Amanda Waller. But he has since learned that the 'secrets' that he thought he was keeping were as obvious as his substance abuse issues, which he's never really bothered to hide.

Regardless, dressed in all black, he slips quietly in between the graves. He has on his domino mask, not so much for keeping his face hidden, but because of the night-vision built in. It helps him navigate without drawing any attention. But then he sees some lights that throw off his tech, lighting up in odd and unnatural patterns.

Owen slowly makes an approach, stopping on the edge of the light. He lights a cigarette and watches, apparently not freaked out by the craziness in front of him. After all, he's worked with her before. Even if he's never run into her in the 'wild' before. But he doesn't have a wisecrack ready, or disturb her. It's best to let meditating witches lie or something.


As the shadows gathered, they rose from the ground, their darkness coalescing into figures, some human, others…less than human. Things born of nightmares, and worse, specters of those who had once known love, but had been torn from it when their spirits had abandoned their bodies. A slight tilt of her head as something or another caught her attention, before she looked back to the rising, but not quite rambling dead. "You have slept long. But even eternal rest must come to an end." A murmuring grew up from the shadows, some, half-formed, sinking back down into pools of ink, as if they sought to hide from the creature that was summoning them. The sound was, not quite like nails on a chalkboard. That sound only abused the ears, this was an assault on the spirit.


Watching with a growing sense of horror on his face, Owen feels as if he's suddenly watching the beginning of a movie that he doesn't want to see all the way through. He cringes at the awful noises that seem to shiver straight through him. He manages to bring the cigarette to his lips and take a drag. It gives him just enough internal fortitude to turn and quietly start to creep away from this nightmare in the making.


"All is well, Mr. Mercer," came Enchantress's voice, though there's no way that she is actually close enough to have seen him. But then, she is a witch. "They care not for you, or for any living thing, despite what horror stories children tell themselves. The dead do not desire to claim the living." A lift of her hands from her knees, and the spirits began to depart, her tone ringing with that undercurrent of command, "You know what I seek. Find it, and send your whispers back to me." There were no words in their reply, and yet, there was acquiescence in the manner of the shadows, as they dissolved back into only that darkness that was something made of the moonlight castings its rays down from the heavens.


An involuntary shudder runs down his spine as the witch speaks, despite the actual words. He stops moving. Are witches like T-Rexes? Does she not see him if he doesn't move? It's worth a shot. But then she's sending them off on an errand and he slowly turns to see if they at least disburse.

"Oh, well that makes me feel like … five percent less freaked out. Thanks."

But since he's talking to her, he fully turns and faces her, though he only takes a small half step forward. Taking a drag off his cigarette, something in his face changes as if he just realized something. With a newfound courage or at least an overwhelming curiosity, Owen moves towards her.

"Yer sendin' out the dead… have you tried asking the living? Whatcha lookin' for witchie?"


Quite unlike T-Rexes. They had much longer arms. But probably the same amount of teeth. The shadows did indeed disperse, and as Owen approached, Enchantress seemed to settle into herself. At the least, the fireflies of embers around her seemed to have cooled, leaving, mostly just that odd smoke in their wake, with the errant flicker of light now and then, like stars winking out, "May I have one of those?" The tip of her head seemed to indicate the cigarette he was still smoking. "Alas, the living cannot walk the same paths as the dead, unless they too, are at the end of their lives. or at the end of all hope." She considered the question, "Answers."


Moving closer as some of the dark magic disperses Owen starts to feel a little warmth return to his skin. He grunts at the request and has a pack out and with a flick of his thumb, one is lifted up and offered to Enchantress. His other hand smoothly offers a light should she take the cigarette.

He quirks an eyebrow at the 'answer' from the witch. But he doesn't press that issue. Instead he sighs long and asks, "Answers.. interesting. I need one." He waits for a moment before continuing on.

"How come you can't just magic out these brain bombs? Or get out from under Waller's thumb?"

A topic that has suddenly become very near and dead to his heart.


Enchantress does indeed retrieve the cigarette, plucking it from the pack with absolute delicacy, leaning in to puff it alight from the flame, before she sat back, settling back into what seemed to her, to be a comfortable position, as though she did not mind at all that she was on top of old, gritty stone. She took the time to take a second puff, a third, before she spoke again, "These are quite…mundane, are they not? Perhaps someday, I will share something more potent with you."

"I could simply 'magic' out those brain bombs." At least she is honest about that. "But there is a thing that I seek, and until I find it, we must all remain as we are. The time is not yet right for us to take our freedom from the woman who holds the leash."


Smiling for the first time tonight when Enchantress calls the cigarettes mundane and offering him something more, Owen replies. "Hell yea, I'd smoke some crazy hoo doo whichyoo." Which everyone knows is a terrible idea, even Owen in some ways, but it's true Owen has yet to turn down any offered substance.

At the explanation, he grunts softly, "That makes sense." His lips draw tight around his cigarette as he puffs on it thoughtfully.

"Well, when it comes time to screw over Waller and blow that popsicle stand. Count me in."


For the moment, Enchantress seemed content to finish the cigarette, her movements far more delicate than seemed, well, normal for the witch, her fingertip flicking the ashes off as a woman might have done in the years, long ago, when they were smoked at the end of long, stiletto holders and not simply from a filter held between the fingers. "I do enjoy the company of those whoa re willing to explore…alternatives."

"She is a clever woman, and devious. She has many secrets. But all secrets will eventually reveal themselves. Time and patience will wear down even the sharpest stone. And it will be well to have those of like mind to watch her downfall."


Owen laughs at the light flirting, even if he's sure that it's not a good idea, he's never been one for good ideas. He says, "Duly noted. I prefer to stay on the good side of those who can wipe me out of existence with some crazy spell. Especially when it sounds like we might be working together for at least a while longer." The thought of them being co-workers in an office somewhere crosses his mind and he hehs to himself at the image.

"Yea.. she's slippery. And I'll admit, wilier than I gave her credit for. But I gotta imagine her trying to rope a handful of terrible people into doing her bidding for any amount of time can only end badly. I mean sure .. for some of us in the short term. But it'll be her time eventually."

It's by far a darker take than Owen has ever had on Amanda Waller. He's been all light harder cracks adn weird one-sided flirting with her because it amused him. He's shrugged off any criticism or real vehemence when talking about Satan. But not now. Now, it's all different.


"Could and will are not at all the same thing. Whatever it is that you all think of me, or what stories they tell of me in those moments when they believe I cannot hear them, I am not given to killing without rhyme or reason. Whatever it is that the woman thought she was creating, when she brought such people as we two together, I think…that it will have consequences that she will neither approve of, or anticipate." Enchantress finished the cigarette, reaching down to grind it out on the side of the tomb she was still sitting on, plucking a pair of black cigarillos from, well, thin air. She held them loosely in her hand as she considered, "She has grown careless, of late, allowed us to seek our own ends. She believes herself the master, but she is like a ringmaster, playing with wild beasts and believing that they will always do what she tells them to do."

Something in Owen's voice, in the sound of his words brought that oddly birdlike tilt to her head, "You have changed, Mr. Mercer. You have grown darker, more..vicious." She did not sound as though she disapproved.


"Yea well she might be growing careless, or maybe she's just playing a different game. Turns out I underestimated the ol' broad and I'm stinging, just a bit from that."

Owen offers both a rejoinder to Enchantress's optimism and an answer to her unspoken question of what brought on that change. At least specific to Waller. There are plenty of other factors in play.

"Well if you ain' gonna kill us, we'da least been includin you in drinking." It's not really an apology per say, but it is a clear indication that yes the Squad is very much under the impression that at any moment Enchantress might decide to just wipe them off the board.

"But .." Here Owen stops to look around for a second, "I need to shove off. Good luck gettin' yer answers. An' if there's anything I can ever do to push us along in bringing down Satan. You let me know."


"She is, despite what she wishes to believe, only human. And her years, her paranoia, and her, what do you young people call it? Karma? Is coming fast on her heels." Young. How old is the witch anyway, if she thinks that word is something new. Well, disregard. "She plays many games, yes. But I think she does not yet realize that she does not always have the winning hand. "Why would I wish to kill you? Any of you? You are all far too interesting, and too useful to slaughter you like cattle." As Owen prepared to leave, Enchantress, well. She did not so much move as she simply appeared standing not but a handspan of inches from him, a hand lifted to offer him the two cigarillos. "A gift."

She made no move to stop him from departing, only turned to watch him leave. And as soon as he had left, she too would disappear, as though she had only been waiting here to meet him.

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